


The Fate of Angels

by Natashasolten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Loyalty, Other, Possibly Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:12:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natashasolten/pseuds/Natashasolten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel wrestles with his emotions for Dean and Sam while serving his higher cause to defeat Raphael. It's an angel-dilemma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fate of Angels

**Author's Note:**

> (A secret, missing scene from season six around the time period of "The Man Who Would Be King," "Let It Bleed," and "The Man Who Knew Too Much." I can’t say where, exactly, this scene fits, because all three of those episodes run together as one story in my mind. You, the reader, may decide for yourself.)

Sam had been crying in his sleep. Castiel could smell the windsalt of it even up in Heaven. Sam’s soul was broken. Only a thin veil held it in place now, kept it from breaking through. One gentle, brief touch was all it would take to dissolve that veil like mist in a single beam of light. One caress…

The danger was immediate. And all a part of Castiel’s larger plan. Defeat Raphael. Control the monster souls of Purgatory. Sam and Dean would thank him for it later.

From Heaven it was both easy and difficult to look down onto Sam, see inside him, observe the split parts of the younger Winchester brother, the angry murderer, the tortured suicidal victim. And then there was the core “Sam” just trying to make it through another day alive, longing for rest, peace, love but never able to break that furious bond of loyalty to Dean. A part of Castiel ached for that scarred soul, wanted to turn away, not see any more. But another part wanted to help him. His plan, if it worked, could do that for Sam, but not before Sam suffered just a little more. It pained him to think of Sam hurting, but that could not be helped.

Castiel had once told Sam, while Dean stood by agape, that he and Dean shared a stronger bond because he’d pulled him out of Hell. It was both true and not true. Yes, he’d clutched Dean to him, flown through time and dimension with him tightly clasped within his arms, felt surge after surge of fiercely delicate protectiveness as he brought Dean back to his burial site, then watched him dig out of his grave.

Dean had been so cold in his embrace, blue-tinged, glacial, naked.

Through starless dark Castiel breathed into his mouth, curved his wings over him like blankets of black down. Dean’s skin had pinked a bit before he let him go, but his insides quaked, the shuddering going through Castiel’s own gigantic frame in shared allegiance of rescuer and rescued.

He could not warm him. Not to the depths that Dean so desperately needed.

Only Sam could do that. And then, only sometimes, those rare times when Dean would stop the jokes and denials and bravado and just be himself yearning for some other, some shadow, some twin that only Sam came closest to being for him.

Only when Sam was at his side did the shuddering inside him stop.

Yes, Castiel had a stronger bond with Dean. But that did not mean he didn’t love Sam.

But now, even though he wanted to stand by Sam, brush his invisible fingers across Sam’s damp brow, smooth away the tangles of hair and soothe the agony within, he didn’t go to him.

He always went to Dean. The way light falls to Earth. Dean was his gravity. The beacon.

Dean slept hard on the bed closest to the air conditioner in the ratty, run-down room. One hand was tucked under his chin, fisted. His eyelashes pressed their tight fringe in delicate lines on his cheeks. Castiel could hear the thrum of the heart in the human’s chest, steady, dependable, charging ever onward even in fatigue.

Dean wore a white t-shirt. Castiel reached out and touched him just below the collarbone. The zing of even that casual of contact with Dean coursed through Jimmy’s lithe, golden body like lightning. Castiel swayed.

Dean was dreaming.

Castiel walked into the dream and it was like coming into copper-day, lacy light, everything edged in ghost-shimmer. The mists of Dean’s mind were surprisingly soft. The expected monsters were left to reality. As escape, Dean had created a kind of endless summer of still, peaceful lakes, honest meadows, quiet, dappled gardens where he could lie still and stare at blue skies, non-hunter, unhunted. Sometimes he made love with nebulous, pretty girls, and once Cas spied a man—only once—who resembled a doctor on some ridiculous daytime television show.

This current dream did not have girls or Doctor Sexy. Not tonight. Right now there was only Dean and a patch of emerald grass, the scent of the sea, and a twenty year old bottle of Scotch propped in the grass tufts beside him.

Castiel sat.

Dean said, “Spying on me?”

Cas knew they’d all figured it out—Dean, Bobby, Sam—that he’d been using them, lying to them, invisibly eaves-dropping. In real life, Dean was confrontational, demanding, a face-to-face kind of guy. In his dreamworld, he was even moreso.

“I am fighting a war,” Cas said. “I have higher loyalties than to you.”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“I didn’t come to talk of lost trust between us.” An alien pain stung his heart as he said that.

“What, then? Because this is my dream and I decided you’re no longer welcome here.”

“Dean.” He said the name with an unusual tremor in his voice. With this human it was impossible to remain detached. He thought about the scarred handprint on Dean’s shoulder, and the intimate angel-warding symbols he’d carved into the human’s ribs. He’d saved Dean, marked him. He thought of Dean as ‘his’. But Dean was wild, fiercer than Castiel could predict. Dean belonged to no one except maybe, in spirit, to Sam. Dean could not be kept.

“You do not lie to your friend. You do not betray your brother,” Dean said.

“If Raphael wins, you will have your apocalypse.”

Dean picked at some grass, head bowed. “We’ve had this discussion. Your plan dooms us all as well. Now, get out of my dream. If I see you again it will be because I am hunting you.”

“Are you finished?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Castiel used to try to understand Dean’s words literally. He’d quickly learned the impossibility of that. Dean expressed anger and hurt through non-sequiturs.

“This is about Sam.”

Now Dean looked up, but still not directly at him. The sun gave his green irises a catseye glaze.

Castiel continued. “This will be hardest on him. And for that I am sorry. I wanted to say that.”

“Then go away and apologize to him.” Dean’s words came out like acid, sputtering the air. “He’s a better man than I am, anyway. Maybe he’ll forgive you.”

He wanted to say it again. I’m sorry. Sorrier. Sorriest. And he truly was. But he guessed that didn’t matter anymore. “I will come to him first, after it’s all done. I’ll fix him. I promise you that. I’m telling you this only so you will be prepared. Sam will be very sick. You will need to be there for him.”

As if rebuffed, Dean replied, “I’m always there for Sam.”

“I know. But this time he will need you even more.”

“A heads up, Cas? Is that what you’re doing? I don’t need advice from you.”

Castiel sighed. “It is not that I want to do this. It’s what I have to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything. We can figure this out together. Another way than opening the door to Purgatory, which you realize is pure insanity. You can find another way. We can find it together. That’s what family does. That’s what I’m asking you.”

Family. Father. Brothers. Cas’s Heavenly family was in a civil war. Now his human family was, too, in a war against him. It saddened him. It annoyed him. It hurt him. But later they would all thank him. He had to keep telling himself that. He had nothing else to hang onto anymore.

The sun wavered with Dean’s emotions, hazing from white to lavender to an otherworldly green. It sent verdigris shadows rippling over them. A scent of cotton candy came, then drifted away and the breeze came again as if from the sea.

Cas started to stand. “My plan will work. I wish you could believe in me the way you ask from me.”

“Cas, when a loved one tells you you are behaving erratically, you need to stop for a moment and listen.”

The angel paused. Loved one. Dean didn’t even hesitate when he said it. Something pulsed in his soul. Something glimmered. “Dean.” Why did he love saying that name so much? A tremble went through him. He steadied himself. Strong. Fearless. “I wish there was another way.”

“There can be!”

“There isn’t. And now there is no time.”

“Cas…”

Castiel straightened his raincoat, palms touching the cloth and gaining a sense of comfort from that. It was why he’d never ditched the coat in the first place. A skewed but important part of him loved that coat. In a way, it was like emotional armor for him.

“Castiel!” Dean rose.

Cas turned. That gaze. It fed him. It bored into him. It was Dean’s true angel-knife. “Just take care of Sam until I get back.”

“You’re not gonna hurt him, are you?”

If he had a heart it might’ve stopped in that very moment. His plan was to dissolve Sam’s veil and shatter the already poorly-mended soul. Dean couldn’t know of that…

When he did not respond, Dean’s eyes became untamed, fire-teared. “Can you at least make it so that it’s me and not him? Please. Make it so whatever is happening to him transfers to me.” He gulped back determined will, voice softening. “Don’t hurt Sam.”

Castiel stared. Everything he was wanted to go to Dean, obey, fix, soothe, enfold. But this was about bigger things. This was about the apocalypse. Dean would understand. Eventually.

But Dean didn’t understand. And his voice rose in a tremble of vulnerability he rarely showed. “Please, Cas. Don’t hurt Sammy.” The glittering eyes. Pain scattering like dew all over the grass. The sky darkened. No stars. Only nightmares. Only doom.

Castiel took a deep breath. “Afterward, you will thank me.” He turned.

“No! Don’t go!”

But Cas could take no more. His wings swept up, blocking the dream. He stepped out.

Now he stood over the sleeping Dean whose white t-shirt bunched at his chest, whose fist tightened under the strong chin. The room smelled of burnt dust, smoke in the carpets, ancient times. The air conditioner sputtered and coughed. He reached out. His fingers touched the prickle of hair on Dean’s scalp. He leaned down and softly touched his mouth to Dean’s temple, lips against that pulse, that vitality. The deep-green jungle scent of Dean nearly drowned him. The endless night of Dean’s soul flustered and dizzied him.

He took a breath, whispering, “Even when you hate me I love you.”

He straightened. Turned.

Sam lay on his back. His eyes were open. He stared upward at the dark ceiling but seemed to see nothing. Still invisible, Castiel went to his side. He lay his hand against Sam’s forehead. Sam did not move. He would not be able to actually feel Cas’s hand in this form, but there would be a sensation of warmth, relaxation, and for now Cas could give him that. He ran his palm over the side of his head, combing through the long, brown hair, caressing the curve of an ear. Then he cupped his cheek, his jaw, his chin. Slowly, Sam’s eyes started to close.

For Sam he was, actually, the sorriest he’d ever been. He wanted to take him into the folds of his wings, keep him safe as he traveled, fought, won his war. But he couldn’t. For Sam, the sacrifice was the greatest.

He touched the young man’s lips with the tips of his fingers. Felt the warm breath, empathically absorbed the conviction of him, even broken, shining through. Sam was strong. Light-born. Mistake-ridden, yes, but pure of heart.

Castiel’s bond was stronger with Dean. It was true. But that didn’t mean he loved Sam any less. “I will do right by you,” he whispered.

Sam’s eyes finally closed. Castiel felt him sink to sleep like an exhausted child. The drying salt of a tear trailed on one cheek.

Now his wings stretched free, up and out, encompassing the room and then the entire motel. It was painful to turn away from love. To serve a higher duty. But that was what he was made to do. The fate of all angels.

As he caught the night in his feathers, his grace lifted him.

And then he was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story, you might be interested in seeing my other fanfics. Click on my author name and the fandoms I have written in will come up. I mostly write slash.
> 
> Also, I have original books on Amazon under my original writing name: Wendy Rathbone. The newest are my m/m romances: The Foundling and its sequel None Can Hold the Dark. Also my sf novel Pale Zenith just became available this summer, 2013.


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